


Met by Moonlight

by DaughterofProspero



Category: Midsummer Night's Dream - Shakespeare, SHAKESPEARE William - Works
Genre: F/M, Fae & Fairies, Magic, Marriage, POV Third Person, forest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-29
Updated: 2016-01-29
Packaged: 2018-05-17 00:05:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5846134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaughterofProspero/pseuds/DaughterofProspero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"These are the forgeries of jealousy:<br/>And never, since the middle summer's spring,<br/>Met we on hill, in dale, forest or mead,<br/>By paved fountain or by rushy brook,<br/>Or in the beached margent of the sea,<br/>To dance our ringlets to the whistling wind,<br/>But with thy brawls thou hast disturb'd our sport."</p>
<p>Oberon and Titania are old as the seasons and just as changeable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Met by Moonlight

The veil ripples, fading into a sheer opalescent barrier as Midsummer’s eve draws nearer. A ragged curtain now, frayed hems skirt the ground. These are entrances from one realm to another, invisible to a mortal eye. Athens’ light’s glow brighter against the sunset. This is when they meet.

Laden in gossamer garments, the Fairy Queen and her train waft through the forest, trails of silky petals hang airborne in their wake. A wreath of marigolds crowns her, a halo of pollen casting golden light upon her russet brow. Waves of glossy hair flow down her back like an onyx water fall. Titania and her band halt, for emerging from the wood some steps in front of them is her husband.

Lord of the Fae, swathed all in spider’s silk, a midnight-coloured cloak anointing the ground below him with hypnotic shadows. Eyes of amber, toothy smile as cold as frostbite, his own imps and minions give their King a wide berth. Oberon extends a jewel-coated hand towards his Queen, a final offer of civility before their infinite quarrel once again commences. This is how they meet.

Millennia of whims, and inconsequential affairs. She, who lies with hero after heroine after hero, appearing as an ethereal answer to their lustful prayers; and he, a cunning Adonis, bedding queens and kings alike. These flights of fancy come and go, and when their fun is done they take each other by the hand and playfully rebuke each infidelity as if it really mattered. This is when they meet.

Sometimes pride drives them to their separate corners, seething with self-righteousness. This is when snowstorms sweep across the land, or swelling rivers overrun their bursting banks. Columns of sand rise and fall angrily in desert storms and lava boils hot as their stubborn tempers, the mortal world in disarray. Their servants twitter amongst themselves, gossiping endlessly on the state of their masters’ minds – sighing in exasperated amusement, but never daring to interfere.

Sometimes it is the humans who must reunite them – but rarely does a human ever know the role they have played in this ceaseless cycle of the supernatural. These humans slip through a hole in the veil’s lining and enter a world even farther beyond their understanding than the one they left. Curious sprites watch from branches and bird’s nests, behind rocks, under leaves – waiting for the magic to begin.

A spell, a potion, a rune – and the human is enchanted, for some purpose or another. Sometimes for love, sometimes for hate, to leave to stay, to lose to find, it’s ever changing. Tripping through the undergrowth, muddling in circles until sleep finds them in the form of a fairy and dreams them safely away.

This is when they meet.

Tender reconciliation absorbs the pair as quickly as their anger. Each graciously forgives the other, hindsight blurred by willful ignorance. Cooing in newfound delight at their partner’s fickle hearts; they reunite and rule as one, inseparable until their next argument; their courts tallying up their scores in a never ending contest of mischief.

**Author's Note:**

> Imagery, thou art a fickle friend.  
> I keep writing about fairies, which is fun, but then I have to solidify mental images of these crazy-ass magical creatures. It's good practice-wise, but also pretty tough, especially if I'm pressed for time.  
> No regrets tho. I love me some fairy antics.
> 
> Thanks for reading! :)


End file.
